NCIS Fragments
by Qoheleth
Summary: The problem with writing for a show like "NCIS" is that you're continually thinking of these lovely bits of character interaction without having a plot to attach them to. Herewith, therefore, a collection of miscellaneous scenes in search of stories.
1. Abbstinence

Disclaimer: If anyone really owns "NCIS", it certainly isn't me.

* * *

..."Okay, Abby, got some more stuff for you to DNA-analyze," said Tony. "And His Probieness says you should do _this_ before _this_, because…"

His voice trailed off as he processed the empty lab around him. "Hang on, where's Abby?"

Gibbs checked his watch. "Coming downstairs from the ground-floor vending machine."

Tony blinked. "How do you know that?"

Gibbs smirked. "Every year, Abby gives up Caf-Pow for Lent," he said. "Every year, she makes it until 5:30 p.m. on Ash Wednesday."

Before Tony could reply, the lab door slid open and Abby appeared, a large Caf-Pow in her hand and a guilty expression on her face. "Gibbs," she announced solemnly, "I am a wretched, sinful creature."

"So I've heard," said Gibbs. "Think you could run these tests now?"

"Sure."...


	2. Apostle to the Gentiles

"Okay, Abby," said McGee, as he staggered into the lab carrying a huge hamper full of blood-stained linen. "Here's those bedsheets for you to test."

"Muchas gracias," said Abby, removing the hamper from his hands and placing it on the evidence table with one smooth gesture. As she did so, a small, metallic _clink_ essayed from the neighborhood of her right wrist, and McGee, glancing down, saw a small, silver medallion attached to her spiked bracelet.

"Is that a Miraculous Medal?" he said.

Abby put a hand to her wrist, and laughed self-consciously. "No, it's a St. Paul medal," she said. "Sister Rosita gave it to me; she said that I should be doing something to honor my patron saint, what with its being his Year and all."

McGee blinked. "Paul's the patron saint of forensic analysts?"

"No, that's St. Thomas," said Abby. "St. Paul's the patron of people who get lost in their sentences. Didn't you ever read Ephesians 3?"

The honest answer would have been "No", but McGee suspected that that would diminish him in Abby's eyes, so he settled for the more neutral, "Good point."

"Besides," said Abby, her eyes gleaming, "how can you not love someone who made fountains spring up where his head bounced?"


	3. Penchants

_**Author's note: **This chapter was originally posted as an independent drabble, on the grounds that it was a missing-chapter story from the episode "Ex-File", not a "scene in search of a story" the way these fragments are supposed to be. Upon reflection, however, I decided that it was, in the truest sense of the word, an NCIS fragment, and therefore properly belonged on this compendium. It is so done._

* * *

"Say, Abby," said McGee, as the team headed for the elevator, "did you give Ducky an MP3 player, too?"

"Well, of course," said Abby. "You didn't think I'd forget him, did you?"

McGee chuckled. "I wonder what _he's_ listening to."

* * *

"Where is me shirt? me nobbing, nobbing shirt?" proclaimed Ducky as he strode into Autopsy. "All gone for beer and tobacco! For the cover is all wore – and the front, it is all tore – and the tail is looking out for better weather!"

"I'm sorry to hear that, Doctor," said his assistant.

"Eh?" said Ducky. "Oh… thank you, Mr Palmer."


	4. Staying Abreast

"Okay, let's see here," said Tony, pulling out a notepad and a pencil and frowning down at the magazine he had open on his desk. "Number 1... well, yeah, that's just common sense, there's no point in publishing that. Number 2... ooh, that's a sneaky one, better write that down..."

McGee glanced up from his computer to see what his partner was looking at – and, having seen, blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. Surely he couldn't be... but, yes, that was what it looked like...

"Number 3... well, that's just wrong..."

"Tony," said McGee slowly, "are you reading _Cosmopolitan_?"

"Gotta keep up with the other side's tactics, probie," said Tony, without even looking up.

"Excuse me?"

"Tactics, McGee, tactics," said Tony. "You know how women's magazines are always putting out these lists of '20 Ways to Make Him Ache for You', or 'Three Dozen Phrases That Get Under His Skin', or whatever. If you let a woman pull one of these on you, she figures you're an easy target and loses all respect for you. So you've got to read their magazines, so you know what to resist."

McGee shook his head. "Unbelievable."

"It's like in _Patton_," said Tony, and assumed a gravelly, George-C.-Scott-esque voice. "'Rommel, you son of a bitch! I read your book!'"

"Wasn't aware I wrote one, DiNozzo," said a familiar voice from behind him.

Tony leaped to his feet, and thrust the magazine under his desk. "Morning, boss!" he said. "I was just, you know, doing... agent things."

"Well, here's another one for you to do," said Gibbs. "Grab your gear."...


	5. Swami Gibbs

**Author's note:**_ This brief fragment was originally part of an AU story in which Tony is not a member of NCIS; since I probably will never finish that story, I have attached the fragment to this collection, where it can as easily be read as taking place when Tony first joins._

* * *

..."It's like, whenever you're talking about him, he knows," said Abby. "Whenever you want to tell him something, he knows. Whenever you're even thinking about him, he..."

"Let me guess," said Tony. "He knows?"

"Exactly!" said Abby. "It's the freakiest thing! It's like he's one of those Hindu mystics who have realized their oneness with the universe and transcended all material limitations. So he knows what I'm thinking because he's me, and he's thinking it. About him. Which is me. So when I think about him, he's thinking about me." She reflected for a moment. "That's kind of sweet, actually."...


	6. Feast of Lots, Lots of Feast

**Author's note:**_ It occurred to me while watching last night's episode that I've seen Ziva make several references to Hanukkah, but never to any of the other Jewish holidays. So, without further ado..._

* * *

"Morning, everyone!" said Tony. "And how's everyone enjoying this lovely March weather?" And he dropped his satchel on the floor by his desk with a loud _thunk!_

Ziva winced, and held up a hand. "Please, Tony," she said. "No sudden movements this morning."

Tony arched an eyebrow, and gave his uncharacteristically bedraggled-looking partner a once-over. "Well, well," he said. "So the Lioness of Judah had one too many last night, did she?"

"No, Tony," said Ziva sharply. "I did not have 'one too many'. I had precisely the prescribed amount."

Tony blinked. "Prescribed?" he said. "By who, your doctor?"

"By the Talmud," said Ziva. "You do know what yesterday was, do you not?"

Tony hesitated. "Um... Tuesday?"

"14 Adar," said Ziva.

At the blank expression on Tony's face, she sighed and elaborated. "Purim, Tony. The holiday commemorating the salvation of the Hebrew race by the guile and foresight of Esther the queen. The day when every good Jew is supposed to get so thoroughly drunk that he cannot tell the difference between the phrases 'Blessed be Mordecai' and 'Cursed be Haman'."

Tony cocked his head. "Really?" he said.

Ziva nodded, then clutched her head and wished she hadn't. "Yes," she gasped. "Of course, as a woman, the rule is not binding on me, but I do not think that a Mossad officer ought to shrink from such a challenge."

"Well, what do you know," said Tony, looking deeply impressed. "I just might have to convert to Judaism now."

"You want to celebrate Purim, DiNozzo, your Bible's got a Book of Esther," said Gibbs as he strode into the bullpen and tossed Ziva a bottle of Excedrin. "Gear up, everyone. Dead Marine in Bethesda."...


	7. Irish Bull

Ziva was bending over her desk to put down her morning coffee when she felt a sudden, sharp stinging sensation in a highly personal part of her anatomy. She whirled around, and saw Tony sauntering back to his desk with the air of one who had just performed a tedious but necessary duty.

Ziva was momentarily dumbstruck. She knew that her partner could be an idiot at times, but this beat everything. Did he _want_ to die?

"Tony," she said slowly, "did you just pinch me on the behind?"

"Aye, sure and ye left me no choice," said Tony, sounding like the Lucky Charms Leprechaun on helium. "For shame, lassie, for shame! How can ye be forgettin' to clad yerself in the rebel colours, today of all days? What would Michael Collins be thinkin' of ye, eh?"

Ziva blinked. "Excuse me?"

"He means that it's St. Patrick's Day, and you're not wearing green," McGee translated.

At Ziva's blank look, he continued, "See, there's this old American custom that, if you don't wear green on March 17, anyone who is has the right to pinch you. It's one of those weird ethnic-heritage things."

"Weird, the lad says," said Tony, rolling his eyes heavenward. "Faith and begorrah, McOrangeman, have ye no respect? 'Twas the Irish who built this great country – the John Kennedys, the Barry Fitzgeralds, the..."

"The Tony O'Dinozzos?" inquired a sardonic voice.

Tony jumped, but recovered himself almost immediately. "Top of the morning to you, boss!" he said. "How's life in the boat-building world?"

"Right now, I'm more interested in death in the boat-building world," said Gibbs. "Murder, specifically. Naval shipyard. Grab your gear."

As the three agents did so, Gibbs headed for the elevator, and Ziva stared after him thoughtfully. "You know, Tony," she said, "Gibbs does not appear to be wearing green, either."

Tony raised his head, and looked at the typically earth-tone-clad team leader for a long moment. "Good point," he said. "I'll give Abby a heads-up on that."...


	8. Apostle to the Gentiles, Continued

**Author's note:** Just a little bit of silliness that I thought ought to be tacked onto Fragment #2.

* * *

"So you like St. Paul, huh?" said McGee.

"Oh, yeah," said Abby with a smile. "I've sometimes even thought about changing my name to Paul – well, to Paula, I guess."

"Paula," said McGee thoughtfully. "Paula Sciuto."

Abby wrinkled her nose. "Yeah, I know, it doesn't really work," she said. "But I could always marry somebody."

"Yes, you could," McGee agreed readily. This was the sort of thought process he wanted to encourage.

"Someone named Perrette, maybe," Abby mused.

McGee blinked. "Perrette?" he said. "Why Perrette?"

"Dunno," said Abby. "'Paula Perrette' just sounds good to me, for some reason."


	9. Mistress of the Lens

"Easy does it, Tony," said Ziva through her teeth as the two of them navigated the enormous box of evidence into Abby's lab. "This way… a bit more… all right, this will do."

The box landed with a thud on the floor as the two of them released their grip simultaneously, and Abby turned from her computer with a broad, delighted grin. "Well!" she exclaimed. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes!"

The two field agents were startled to realize just how appropriate the phrase was. They had both gotten in late that morning, and hadn't seen Abby since her early departure for a checkup the previous afternoon. As a result, when they were suddenly confronted by a lab tech wearing oval, black-rimmed glasses, they wondered momentarily whether they could have gotten into the wrong building by mistake.

"Going undercover again, Abby?" said Tony.

Abby glanced up at him. "Hmm?" Then she realized, and laughed self-consciously. "Oh… no, Dr. Maroney prescribed these. He says there's a little bit of astigmatism in my right eye – nothing serious, but he wants to nip it in the bud so I don't go blind when I'm eighty. So I've got to wear corrective lenses for about a week – which is a really weird feeling, by the way," she added, as she picked up a hamper of bloodstained linen and carried it over to her desk. "It's like my ears are being pulled forward, almost. It's not a bad feeling, really, but it's just… you know, weird."

"I like it," said Ziva thoughtfully. "It suits you."

Abby glanced back at her, and smiled. "Well, thank you, Ziva," she said.

"I agree," said Tony. "It's sort of like Wonder Woman's secret identity in the old TV show. It makes a guy think, if you just spin around a few times…"

He trailed off. Abby had always been good at giving him the shut-up-DiNozzo glare (having learned, no doubt, from Gibbs), but never before had she delivered it with such effectiveness as now, when she could shoot it over half-lowered eyeglass frames. He opened and shut his mouth a few times without any coherent result; then, with a hasty, "You know, I think I'll go see how McGee's doing with those cell-phone records," he strode briskly from the lab, followed by a broadly smiling Ziva.

Abby grinned, turned to her reflection in her computer's screen, and planted a kiss on the end of her index finger, which she then tapped to the frame of her glasses. "Nice work, boys," she said with satisfaction.


	10. Proud to Claim the Title

"Ladies and gentlemen," said the announcer: "The United States Marine Corps!"

As the band struck up Part III of the Armed Forces Medley, several figures rose out of the crowd gathered around the bandstand, just as their fellows in the Army and Coast Guard had rose when their songs had been played. One in particular was notable – not especially for his appearance (although he was a good-looking man for his age, with a striking crown of silver hair), but for the enthusiasm of the dark-haired young woman sitting on the ground next to him. She cheered wildly as he stood up, and was one of the few people (other than the standing Marines themselves) to sing all the way through the first verse of the Hymn.

_From the halls of Montezuma  
To the shores of Tripoli  
We will fight our country's battles  
In the air, on land and sea;  
First to fight for right and freedom  
And to keep our honor clean,  
We are proud to claim the title  
Of "United States Marine"!_

Then the band segued into its next service song; the man resumed his seat on the park bench, and the woman grinned up at him. "See, Gibbs, that wasn't so bad," she said.

Gibbs (for the man, of course, was he) declined to respond. Had Abby not been present, he probably still would have stood up – it was the Corps, after all – but there was no harm in letting her think that he had waived Rule 19 ("Conspicuous equals vulnerable") solely to avoid disappointing her. He probably would, someday.

"What I don't get," said Abby, her grin turning to a pout, "is why I don't get to stand up during 'Anchors Aweigh'. I mean, NCIS is part of the Navy, right?"

"Civilian service," said Gibbs. "Doesn't make you a sailor."

Abby sighed. "Well, it's not fair, anyway," she said.

Gibbs gave her a sidewise glance. "Think so?" he said. "You'd be happier if Jenny could make you wear dress whites to work?"

Abby didn't seem to have considered this. It was difficult to tell, with the dim light and her naturally pale complexion, but Gibbs thought he saw her blanch slightly. "Oh," she said. "Well, um… no, I guess not."

"Didn't think so," said Gibbs.


End file.
